


The Cliff and the Oasis

by HeronS



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Fathers & Sons, conflicts & resolutions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7608745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeronS/pseuds/HeronS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an attempt to mend fences with his clan after the Babel conference, Spock accepts T'Pau's order to go on a traditional Vulcan pilgrimage. When Sarek finds out about the journey, and that it will take his son, and Jim Kirk, into the chaos of the Coridan civil war, he resolves to go after them. A tale of fathers and sons, conflicts and resolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

_[Excerpt from Grayson, A, 2236._ A Commentary on Vulcan Social Roles for the Non-Vulcan Reader _.]_

_Having discussed the most common pre- and post-Surakian genders and gender roles, we now turn to their manifestation in another social role - that of the parent._

_As noted in chapter 5, the traditional female gender role afforded the pre-Surakian individual authority over the_ katek _(here translated as ‘the domain’): the inner workings of the household and estate, including power over all economic resources and decisions, ownership of land and the final say in matters of justice and punishment. The traditional male gender role afforded the individual authority over the_ e'katek _(here translated as ‘the frontier’): the right to bear arms, to make decisions in hostile situations or territories, to make alliances, trade or raid enemies. These social conventions carry over to the two most typical parental roles - that of the_ ko-mekh _(here translated as ‘mother’) and_ sa-mekh _(here translated as ‘father’)._

_The father image in particular holds much meaning to Vulcans, and it is the one that is most filled with contrast and controversy. The father is responsible for the education (moral and scholarly) of his children, for their physical training, and for arranging marriages with other families. The idealized father is both a remote strict teacher, and a close confidant. He is both supposed to prioritize the wellbeing of the entire family or clan, and to prioritize the wellbeing of his own children. "The father" is thus a high-status social role, but one with many inherent social dangers: a pedestal from which it is easy to fall._

_The role of the father is addressed by Surak in the logico-philosophical treatise_ Reflections on Clan _(#73) as well as in several public speeches, but the perhaps most well known treatment of the subject is from the poem_ The Cliff and the Oasis _, written in the traditional style of the Forge by an unknown disciple, and dated to four years after Surak’s death. Like many Surakian commentaries that seek to understand and analyze Vulcan parent-child relations, this work will also start with an analysis of the poem._

_“The Cliff and the Oasis”_

_Be as the cliff_  
The cliffs of the Llangons  
Eternal, unchanging, firm.  
The most violent storms cannot touch it.  
It does not change.  
When the fire ravages, remain calm and cool.  
When the sweet breeze comes, remain damp and hard.  
When fatigue threatens, your paths still remain unchanging and steep.  
When the desert storm engulfs their world - they will never doubt that your caves still give shelter.

_Be as the oasis._  
The oasis of the Depak valley.  
Mutable, adapting, providing.  
Each breeze leaves multidimensional fractal matrices  
In the memory of water.  
When the drought strikes, your depths will be enough.  
When they fall, you will embrace them.  
When the enemy threatens, you will give them water also.  
When they have ventured too far - they will never doubt that they can at least return to you.

**Chapter 1**

Given the subject matter, Sarek knew he should be contemplating _the Cliff and the Oasis_ , or better yet, _the Reveration of the Mother_. As it was, he found that he needed all his focus to master an explosion of outraged fury.

 

"I do not understand, T'Pau. I ask you to please explain the situation again."

 

His mother looked at him coolly. A 3D simulation of a worm hole hovered in the air to her left, paused just before the imminent collapse of its time-space matrix. The modern tools were at odds with the ancient stone wall behind her, and the elegantly carved wooden ink horn on the desk. Sarek had never understood the logic of which modern contraptions were allowed in the Keep, and which were banned - but he dutifully assumed that this was a shortcoming of his own analysis.

 

T'Pau had not put down her reed brush. He was clearly interrupting something she considered more important.

 

"Spock and his companion are on a pilgrimage in the Coridan systems, to the Vulcan healers there. You will have to explain the nature of your difficulty in interpreting this information."

 

Sarek stared at her. Finally he said, voice as even as he could make it, "It is an unlawful area of space. There are several warring factions. The ion storms make navigation perilous."

 

"I am aware."

 

"Are you aware of the diplomatic consequences, should they die?"

 

Her eyes swept over him. "I am well acquainted with the consequences of my actions, my son." She reached to terminate their connection, but left him with a final question.

 

"Are you?"

 

===oOoOoOo===

 

Jim stretched, and hit his elbow on the protruding emergency kit by the shuttle door. Reflexively, he jerked back, pushing the narrow medical stretcher overbalance. Slowly but inevitably, the stretcher upended, leaving him wedged between it and the shuttle’s single bunk.

 

He could practically feel Spock studying him from the cockpit.

 

"A little help?"

 

"Forgive me. I was uncertain as to what you were trying to accomplish."

 

A strong Vulcan arm helped him effortlessly up, the grip leaving him as soon as he was on his feet. Spock then hauled the stretcher up, hitting the button that reduced it to a long thin bundle. He placed it in its designated cupboard, before reaching down for the pillow and blanket that had tumbled to the floor. As he folded them meticulously, he still would not meet Kirk's eyes.

 

Jim sighed. It took a lot of determination to keep your distance when you were two people in a one-person shuttle. Spock was, unsurprisingly, trying to excel at it.

 

"I thought you agreed that it was logical for us both to rest before we leave Federation space," he said, gently.

 

"I slept for 1.4 hours, and meditated for another 3.67 hours."

 

"So until just now. I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

 

"It is of no matter."

 

Spock turned, and managed with some deft maneuvering to pass Kirk without brushing against him in the narrow corridor. On one side was the shuttle wall, sporting the large infotainment screen that was customary in high-end civilian models. The other side held the bunk to the right, with storage space above and under it. To the left was a small head that also doubled as a sonic shower. There was no space for chairs or tables, but there were trays that folded out from the wall by the bunk space and in the small cockpit. The cockpit had, in grudging compliance with Federation safety regulations, two chairs and duplicated navigation and control boards.

 

"We cross into Coridan space in six hours, forty three minutes," Spock informed him  as he made his way forward.

 

Kirk ambled after him, stretching out his legs. He stopped by the small civilian food synthesizer inset in the wall directly behind the cockpit.

 

"I'm going to have some…" he looked through the available bags that the synthesizer could turn into finished meals, "borscht soup. I'll get you some too."

 

Spock shoulders stiffened for a second like he was about to protest, but then subsided.

 

"Thank you," he said formally.

 

Jim let his hands go through the familiar motions of pouring out the bag contents into bowls, letting his mind and eyes wander over the shuttle's functions.

 

Regardless of the tight confines, the little shuttle was a beaut. Sleek, capable of warp four on its own, equipped with all the latest commercial wonders. Compared to the boxy contraptions of his youth, or the pragmatic volume-focused synthesizers of the Enterprise's mess hall, the gleaming synthesizer looked like a piece of art, adorned with buttons and touchscreens, and blinking, chirping lights and fixtures.

 

"You're still the same on the inside," he muttered as he tried to make sense of the different menus. With a pang of memory, he suddenly remembered the way his father had never gotten along with their old synthesizer, always insisting that in the end it was just as fast to just whip up something on the fusion stove. It was a bittersweet memory, and he almost turned to the cockpit to share it, when he realized both why it had probably been brought to his mind, and why it would be ill advised to bring it up just now.

 

He turned back to the synthesizer, his mind wandering towards Spock...

 

In a universe where nothing was ever simple, Spock usually was. Oh, sure, he was an incredibly complex person, and there was astonishing complexity introduced by their professional roles, but Kirk didn't usually have to think twice about what to say to him or how to talk to him;  _interacting with him_  was usually simple. But in this situation, with all its family involvement and cultural norms and taboos, Jim felt as if he didn't know what to say to Spock, or perhaps, he didn't know how much to say, and that uncertainty and complexity was unfamiliar.

 

So while he felt Bones' voice in his head, shouting for him to confront the Vulcan, to pull him out of his shell, provoke him if need be, he simply continued making the soup.

 

He’d gotten himself onto the shuttle, at least. Spock would talk when he was ready.

 

Jim couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the timer on the wall, counting down their approach to the Coridan border - or where Starfleet was of the opinion that the Coridan border should be, which might have little to do with reality.

 

He hoped that moment would come before they had to start ducking.

 

 

===\\\//===  
  


**Author's note: The next chapter should come in a day or two! What do you think? I'm hoping that you have lots of questions, probably sharing Sarek's frustration with T'Pau. :) Remember - reviewing is good for your karma!**

**MaryChapel and WeirdLittleStories made this chapter so much better with their TLC beta-ing. Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_"The political object is the goal, war is the means of reaching it, and the means can never be considered in isolation from their purposes" - Von Clausewitz._

The Coridan question had been officially resolved. The besieged elected government had petitioned for Federation membership, and after more than a week of debates, this had been granted along with the impressive military protection it entailed. It was the crowning achievement of the Babel conference - a solid victory for Federation values, as one reporter put it.

It was also widely talked about as a victory for Sarek of Vulcan. There had been rumors that the ambassador had been on the verge of retirement, but maybe that had been a political ruse of some kind, because Sarek certainly had held nothing back during the Babel conference. He had been the front figure of the Vulcan-Terran alliance that patiently and steadily advanced the Coridan matter. He'd been willing to argue for hours, but had steadfastly refused to let the discussions be dragged off track. The question of Coridan's membership went from unlikely, to uncertain, and then teetered over into certainty in the face of relentless Vulcan logic and oratory. Sarek was a great speaker, not because his speeches roused the masses or evoked strong emotions - but because they were clear and concise, and filled with impeccable but understandable statistics. Many delegates might not particularly feel any affection for the stern and uncompromising delegate, but few questioned his dedication to seek out the objective truth and the solution that benefited the most.

Together with the Terran representatives, they had won over delegate after delegate, working through the nights to come up with plans for the integration of the Coridan economy and legal system, and for the necessary Starfleet intervention in the ongoing rebellion. When she saw the very detailed deployment plans, one of the Andorian reporters had remarked that maybe the Vulcan delegation had help from the supposedly neutral Starfleet? And wasn't the Ambassador's son... ? She was quickly shushed by more experienced colleagues. They'd need far more than that to risk the strong cultural taboos surrounding inquiries into Vulcan family matters, and no-one wanted to endanger their access to the Ambassador at the moment.

His efforts were praised by most, and the fact that he had voiced his strong disapproval of the wording of the final accord had baffled many, but was ultimately seen as a result of Vulcan perfectionism.  _You can't get everything you want in politics_ , as the Tellarite representative had said, pounding his human colleague on the shoulder with a force that almost sent the Iranian woman sprawling.  _Surely Ambassador Sarek knew that?_

Ambassador Bagheri had winced from more than the physical blow.

She'd had little choice, she told herself.

Midway through the conference, the Tellarites had come to her and offered to change their stance completely, suddenly endorsing Coridan. They just wanted one little addition to the Babel Accords: a stabilization period of five weeks, during which the pro-royal Coridan rebels would have a chance to face the fact of the overwhelming Starfleet might that waited just outside the borders, and come to their senses and begin negotiations with the elected government of their own accord. In the spirit of the Prime directive, it was always better to let local groups hash these things out without outside involvement, yes? It wasn't as if the rest of the galaxy ignored the Coridan system - the Non-aligned Medical Relief Group had a steady presence, as did various other NGOs. Not all assistance must come from governments.

Ambassador Bagheri was far from stupid, and she knew that the Tellarites had to have a reason for their sudden reversal. But everyone, except the rebels themselves it seemed, had accepted the inevitability that the rebels would lose as soon as the Federation moved in. Bagheri though that surely, surely, the royalists must see reason now, and lay down their arms. With the Federation behind them, the future of the Coridan democracy was assured - the people had spoken clearly, and voted the monarch and the crown princess out of their hereditary offices.

Again and again, even after there was no going back, even after she'd finalized the deal with the Tellarites behind the Vulcans' back, she'd gone over the information. The Vulcans had been firmly against the stabilization period, arguing that once the decision to intercede on the behalf of the government had been made, that support must come fast and unwavering. Bagheri had weighed the Vulcan delegation's disapproval against the chance to cut days, if not weeks, from the negotiations and having the support of Tellar on the final document, and had met Sarek's dark look of disapproval with defiance. It had been decades since she'd been a young aide by his side. She was an Ambassador plenipotentiary in her own right to this conference, and while Sarek might have been the most visible presence on the floor, it was ultimately her negotiations that had settled the matter.

And settled it was. Even as the final speeches were made, and the conference rooms cleared out, Starfleet vessels began altering their far-off trajectories to bring them to Coridan in five weeks time. There was no hurry: no official Starfleet vessel could enter before then. And between the neutral Babel space station, with its hastily departing diplomatic skiffs, and the war torn frontier of the Coridan system, hung the Federation flagship. The worried Coridan Prime Minister looked at her wistfully from the observation dome as his ship headed back into the war zone. He understood that her continued presence at the border was a promise, and a generous one at that. He prayed to the Goddess that she wouldn't be too late.

Three hours later, his ship was blown up. The Federation issued a blanket travel warning for all ships contemplating entering Coridan space, and the NRMG head physician, V'Fere, reiterated the general apeal for any and all volunteers willing to take the risk to bring desperately needed medical supplies into the Coridan systems.

If she recognized the names of the first responders, she was far too exhausted to give a thought to the wider implications.

 

===\\\/===

 

Jim was dozing in his cockpit chair. It fitted itself to his back in a snug embrace, and he had a moment of weakness when he compared it to the command chair on the  _Enterprise_ , and found the rigid lines of the latter sorely lacking. But maybe that was the point.

His thoughts wandered. They were almost at the border region, stealthily moving in all the electromagnetic shadows they could find. From the fragmented signals they'd managed to tune into on the subspace radio, they'd gathered that the fighting had intensified, and the hoped-for ceasefire was nowhere in sight. Jim had resisted the urge to ask the  _Enterprise_  for an update - he'd given Scotty a no-nonsense ban on attempting to contact them after all, and even if he was reasonably sure that they could disguise the signal, it would set a bad precedent. They were here as civilians, and if anyone got the idea that they might not be, there could be serious repercussions given the five week moratorium on Starfleet involvement. They were going to travel close to Coridan Beta II, find the  _Hath Vian_ , leave the enormous container their little shuttle was towing, and then get out.

Easy, uncomplicated.

He still couldn't quite believe that Komack had bought his reasoning, and granted them leave. He strongly suspected T'Pau's hand behind the scenes, and, not for the first time, he wished he could understand her motives.

"Twelve minutes until we cross, Jim."

He saw Spock draw a careful breath, his hands seeking a calming formation in his lap, Jim spoke before the Vulcan could.

"Isn't it illogical to perform the same action over and over again, expecting a different result?"

Spock's lips tightened minutely.

"I retain the hope that you will have had the time to further consider the matter."

"I'm not going back, Spock. Come on, we're doing a great thing here - they really need those supplies. And we're taking care of your obligation as well."

"This is not… I did not wish for this outcome."

Jim shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. Spock sounded affronted. Jim knew he would never go as far as calling T'Pau's orders illogical, but the half-Vulcan was clearly not pleased with the penance he'd been given.

Jim had had high hopes for a thawing between Spock and his father Sarek during the journey to Babel. The intimidating diplomat clearly had a tense relationship with his child - they hadn't spoken as father and son, as his mother Amanda had put it, for seventeen years, ever since Spock defied Sarek and joined Starfleet. Once Sarek and Amanda had left the  _Enterprise_ for the diplomatic conference, Jim had wondered if his friend would seek him out and explain more - not telling his captain about his familial ties with the very important diplomatic representatives coming aboard had bordered on the negligent, even accounting for the Vulcan cultural need for privacy on family matters.

 _You tell me what you want, when you want it, my friend_ , he'd so badly wanted to say to give them some closure on the matter. _I trust you_.

The Vulcan had sought him out, ears slightly green from Bones' version of the closure talk, which could be summarized as  _we're also your family now, you idiot, and if you ever treat us like that again I'll be disappointed as hell._ He'd clearly been very uncomfortable about the topic of his relationship with his father, but had stiffly said that he wanted to inform Jim of an important development - both because it was appropriate given their friendship, and because it would entail asking for personal leave.

For reasons that were not entirely clear to Jim - in a human, it would have been easy to write them off as conflict avoidance, but Jim allowed for the fact that there might be cultural elements that he simply did not understand - Spock had not intended to speak with Sarek directly about repairing the breach between them.

Instead he had told Jim that he wished to contact the clan Matriarch T'Pau and offer his apologies for the sudden way that he had left the clan almost two decades before. In order to make amends, he would offer to make a traditional pilgrimage to the the Vulcan Forge Eremitage, to the Healers who studied there, the next time he had an opportunity. Such a trip would entail two weeks of hiking through the rough desert sands - a time of contemplation of the value of Vulcan society and the harsh universe that could rip it asunder.

Studying Spock now, face bathed in the blue light of the shuttle's scanner, Jim thought about how natural it had felt when he'd asked if he could sit in on the call. And how surprisingly unsurprised he'd been that Spock had said yes.

Once the connection had been established, Spock had stiffly made his request in High Vulcan.

T'Pau had studied him for several minutes, and then said no.

"What value is there to a journey that thou, with all thy training, wilt think of as only a stroll. The Forge was a place of reckoning in ages past - now it is watched by satellites and the lematyas carry trackers. The lessons that need to be taught here do not await thee in the Forge, child."

She'd proceeded by showing a surprisingly detailed knowledge of not only where the  _Enterprise_  was stationed, but also the Coridan situation. Instead of seeking out the healers of the Forge, she charged Spock with taking supplies to the NMRG healers working in the systems. And instead of a meditative hike through the desert at some later date, this meant a week long foray into the middle of a war zone. Now. Then she'd given Spock the ta'al, and signed off as soon as it was returned.

Spock had wryly reflected that he'd clearly forgotten the first lesson in clan lore -  _never, ever, underestimate T'Pau._

Jim, who at that point had grown increasingly frustrated with being the head of a glorified taxi ship that was apparently destined to stay still and look imposing for the next five weeks while people were dying a few parsecs away, had told him that if HQ could be persuaded to grant the leave, he thought it sounded like an excellent idea. A chance to actually make a difference. And he'd told his First Officer, that, of course, he was coming along.

Spock had given a host of reasoned, well-articulated arguments why this was a suboptimal idea, and when those had no effect, had gone on in desperation to bring up any and all possible arguments. When he'd finally been reduced to pointing out that the only warp-capable shuttle with towing capabilities that he could acquire at Babel was a one-person shuttle, and they simply wouldn't fit, Jim had only cheerfully slapped his shoulder and said that it surely was no worse than Starfleet Academy dorm accommodation. And that had been that. Well, at least according to Jim.

Now Spock straightened and met his Jim's eyes directly. Finally.

"Jim. I find the idea of you being in danger because of Vulcan traditions to be most… troubling."

"Spock. I find the idea of you travelling alone into the middle of a war zone to be absolutely unacceptable."

They locked gazes, but Jim already knew he was going to win this battle of wills.

Because this was where he belonged.

Because the people of Coridan needed these supplies, and there was a reason why even the most minuscule deep space shuttles forced in a chair for a back-up pilot in the cockpit.

And because a pilgrimage of reflection on father-son relationships and responsibilities was undoubtedly very suitable to Jim as well - and sooner or later he was going to have to tell Spock why.

====\\\//====

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I'm indebted to my fantastic beta-reader MaryChapel who struggled with helping me make the flashbacks in this chapter easier to follow – any remaining confusion is due to my stubborness. Please consider leaving a review – what questions are on your mind right now about the plot? Is there anything you'd like to see more or less of? What do you think the Tellarites are up to?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious woman - An argument - What happened to the Hath Vian?

**Chapter 3**

_“Soldiers when in desperate straits lose the sense of fear. If there is no place of refuge, they will stand firm. If they are in hostile country, they will show a stubborn front. If there is no help for it, they will fight hard.”_ \--Sun Tzu.

===\\\\_//===

 

_It’s a matter of honor._

The memory of the words reverberated in her mind.

_It’s a matter of duty._

Bal felt sick to her stomach.

_Two thousand years of unbroken rule. Two millennia of holy ancestors._

At her curt gesture her attendants melted into the shadows behind her. She could hear the faint sound of phasers pistols firing in the distance, as her personal guard finished securing the perimeter. The console before her was undamaged, despite the last, desperate attempt of the broken rebel who lay dead at her feet.

_You were born to carry on their legacy. You exist to honor their memory._

Her fingers hovered over the ornate headset. Shaking.

_Do not fail me, daughter._

She put it on, hearing the small hiss as it settled into place. She was pressing so hard that tiny rivulets of blood started seeping through her fingers.

In geosynchronous orbit far above, the bridge officers of _Hath Vian_ could only watch as a barrage of photon torpedoes took wing and sought them out in elegant, beautiful arcs. The medical relief ship had no weapons, and no shields.

 

===\\\\_//===

 

At first, nothing happened. This was because space was very big, and they were very small, even with their trailing container. The shuttle had state-of-the-art navigation and sensor systems, which Jim knew Sulu would first scoff at for automating far too many things - but then secretly itch to take apart to explore.

Once they had passed the border, Spock had if not given up then at least called a stalemate to their battle of wills. There were many tricks that they could use to let them minimize their warp trail and disguise their presence, and darting unseen around the Coridan Alpha system towards their goal in Coridan Beta became almost a game - if Vulcans had indulged in games…

“Vulcans do not indulge in games, Jim.”

“Did I say game? I meant a beneficial team-work exercise in finding optimal patterns.” Jim smiled. “Hey, there’s a solar flare predicted from Coridan Alpha - the radiation will reach us… there, see? If we alter our course, we can ride it for a while. Ghosts on the solar wind.”

Spock nodded, a tilt of his head telling Jim that he was getting pulled in by the puzzle. The Vulcan started setting up the digital infrastructure for the calculations. Multidimensional warp trajectories weren’t something normal people coded by hand, but if you wanted your computer to disregard proper protocols in order to stay hidden, you needed to do some pretty complex alterations to the software.

Jim grinned, started pulling down data files and settled in to the exhilarating feel of high stakes problem solving with the smartest person he knew. It was a good thing they weren’t normal people.

After almost an hour of companionable quiet, Jim spoke.

“Can’t be true that there are no games on Vulcan, though. What about those Vulcan chess grand masters? Or the tal-nor competitions.”

“I cannot be blamed for the illogical ambiguity of the Standard word ‘game’. Your Earth philosopher Wittgenstein wrote extensively…”

“I refuse to do Wittgenstein unless I’m far more intoxicated.”

Spock gave him a look. “I mean to say that there are plenty of Vulcan practices and traditions designed for mental exercise.”

“Ah. So it’s ok to have games as long as they’re not fun.”

“It escapes me how you can profess to enjoy chess so much, yet claim that there is a basic dichotomy between ‘fun’ and ‘exercise’.” Spock narrowed his eyes. “In fact, I do not believe you would claim that, which makes the point of this interchange something else than its surface topic.”

Jim shrugged, grinning. “Or I’m just being illogical. Who knows.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes before Jim spoke again, voice casual. “Sarek taught you to play chess, didn’t he?”

The silence told that followed told him that his attempt at subtlety had failed, but then, with dogged determination, Spock pushed through many layers of Vulcan propriety and made himself answer.

“Yes. And tal-nor.” Spock fell silent, but just as Jim was about to speak, he continued. “He had a master ranking in the latter in his youth. He always found chess to be rather inelegant and metaphorically violent. My father is not a martial man.”

Jim kept his eyes on the screen in front of him. “Huh. Does he think like that about all Terran strategy games?”

“He is rather partial to Lunar Go, where the object is to reduce your opponent’s playing field until he can only move in the structures you have created.”

 _And you think your father is not a martial man_ , Jim mused, but kept silent. He suppressed the flare of aggressive protectiveness that sparked inside him, recognizing it all too well.

“I’m not sure I fully understand what it means when you were talking about having left your clan when you left Vulcan.” He went on, busying himself with testing the back-up warp controls at his station. “What does ‘left’ mean, exactly?”

“It is complicated.”

Kirk shrugged. “I’m flying a shuttle at relativistic speeds through a multidimensional portable tunnel here Spock. I’m no stranger to complicated things.” He glanced up to measure the effect of the joke, but Spock’s face was expressionless.

“You would not understand.” The Vulcan reiterated, voice distant.

“Try me.”

“It is not spoken of to outsiders.”

Kirk’ hands at the controls stilled. “And am I an outsider, Spock?” He asked, quietly.

He’d called Spock a brother on any number of occasions. He’d stood with him at his disastrous wedding, where no off-worlders should have been, and where his parents had been nowhere to be seen. More often than not, he knew what the Vulcan was thinking before he said anything. He’d always been comfortable in not classifying their relationship with human or Vulcan labels, but if there was a binary one, if there was an ‘outside’ and an ‘inside’...

“Jim…” Spock’s voice was flat. “You would not understand. The relationship with your parents was harmonious. You have no children. You are Human, with all the personal freedom that entails to follow your own counsel even in matters of family.”

“I might understand more than you realize.” Was this the right time to tell him? Or would it just destroy the rapport he was trying to build here?

“The circumstances of this voyage do not entitle you…”

“Entitle?” Jim snapped, whirling his chair to the left. Spock’s hand froze, hovering in the air over the controls. Jim was dimly aware that there was something else, something older and bitter, to his sudden anger than just the conversation at hand. He struggled to wrestle it down. “

_Way to go, Jim. What happened to ‘You tell me what you want, when you want it?’._

He grimaced an apology, and leaned back in his chair, trying to let down his guard. “I’m sorry. But… I’m not sorry for asking you. You hacked my file when that business with Kodos went down, and you were right to do it - I wasn’t thinking very clearly right then, I needed you.” He leaned back in his chair, eyes on the starfield. “The thing is, that there have been times when I’ve known that things were... wrong for you before.” _Before Pike and Talos IV, before your pon farr… And I shoved it away and let you be to keep your secrets, and you walked towards death…_ “And I know I didn’t do enough then.”

His eyes sought Spock’s again.

“I’m not entitled to anything, Spock. But I do have obligations.”

Spock’s gaze remained cold and dark for a second, before it became gradually more alive. Jim had learnt to recognize this as signs of when his friend was purposefully lessening his shields and controls. He felt a hesitant re-alignment between them.

“Look - I’m sorry. You tell me what you want, when you…”

A loud alarm interrupted him, and lights started flashing on several different control boards. Spock blinked and pulled up the data on the main screen.

“We have lost the signal from Hath Vian.”

“Run a diagnostic,” Kirk ordered, neither of them reflecting on the roles they fell into even off duty. “Could the solar flare be confusing them?”

The intermittent, confusing fighting going on in the sector made most ships, even supposedly neutral shuttles like theirs that should be safe from all sides, try to move as discretely as possible. The big exception were hospital ships like the _Hath Vian_ \- they had powerful subspace beacons that continuously broadcasted their locations and intentions.

_We are neutral. We welcome anyone. We will help anyone. Come find us._

“Diagnostic complete. The problem is not at our end.” They exchanged a look.

The _Hath Vian_ had been in orbit around Coridan Beta Eight, a cold, inhospitable and sparsely populate planet which orbit often brought it very close to Orion space. The terrorist attacks and fighting that had plagued the inner planets of both Coridan Alpha and Beta had been largely absent there. Jim’s mind did an automatic strategy analysis: it might be a natural place for the rebels to regroup: as they were hunted further and further away from the central systems they would become desperate for any ground that they could hold. And you never wanted a truly desperate enemy, because there was no way of predicting their actions or to what lengths they might be willing to go.

He swallowed, and noted but pushed down a feeling of dread, and then, without any need to say anything further, the two of them fell seamlessly into digital step, shedding all attempts at discretion and going to maximum warp. The little shuttle blazed through space, heading to the last known location of the _Hath Vian_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: The fantastic MaryChapel beta’d this, suggesting so many improvements. Please let me know what you think – what works and what doesn’t. It also helps to know what impressions you have formed about the various vague and mysterious parts – who do you think the woman in the beginning is? What’s your opinion of what Kirk is thinking about?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: I haven’t abandoned this story – but an unexpected illness in the family has made it difficult to find time and energy to write. The next chapter is already written however, and I’m aiming for a bi-weekly posting tempo.
> 
> The story so far: In an attempt to mend fences with his clan after the Babel conference, Spock accepts T'Pau's order to go on a traditional Vulcan pilgrimage. When Sarek finds out about the journey, and that it will take his son and Jim Kirk into the chaos of the Coridan civil war, he resolves to go after them. We’ve found out that the Tellarites have been doing some intricate political maneuvering regarding Coridan at the Babel conference, and in the last chapter, a mysterious woman seemed to be involved in some sort of attack on the Hath Vian.

==o0o0o0o0o==

_“Never was anything great achieved without danger.” –Machiavelli._

They hurtled though subspace, engines straining to bring them closer to the Coridan Beta star. The lack of proper Starfleet quality star charts (something which frustrated Kirk no end) meant they couldn't compensate for local sources of radiation, gravity and iota waves. The sensors flickered alarmingly. All about them, the data analysis software struggled to interpret and collate the wildly fluctuating information. Spock ignored its fitful attempts at producing helpful figures and graphs and stared directly at the raw data, devouring rapidly updating matrices with Vulcan symbols.

"Jim, the sensors are picking up a Coridan heavy military cruiser."

"Have they seen us?"

"Unknown. Their sensors far outperforms ours." Spock looked at the equipment critically. "I might be able to…"

Jim shook his head and snapped down on the ID beacon. "Too late, they're hailing us. I'm going to start showing our true colors."

Jim made their ID beacon flash at full strength. He waited half a minute to let the cruiser analyze their information before he opened the channel. A holographic image appeared just beyond their control panels - a cramped military bridge painted in the yellow and red colors of the democratic Coridan republic. The image was partly transparent, letting the numbers and graphs of the main viewing screen behind it shine through. Coridan officers were stalking back and forth, their long tails twitching.

The atmosphere on the Bridge seemed harried and determined. As Jim glanced around, he saw and focused in on the list of battle damage that their sensors proclaimed on the gigantic ship.

"Identify yourselves and state your business," growled the felinoid in the foremost of the many bowl-like recesses that littered the floor of the cruiser's bridge. The presumed captain was female, a mother to several litters judging by the many colorful nipple rings proudly adorning her torso. Her brown and black coat was bathed in the light of hundreds of small touch screens set in the bowl's walls. Her claws and tail were busily interacting with the displays.

"I am Spock, a Federation citizen. My name and purpose are clearly stated in the ID beacon of this shuttle. This is my compatriot, James. I am here as a volunteer, bringing supplies to the Non-aligned Medical Relief Group."

"You've been sneaking around."

"We'd rather not," interjected Jim. "But until the civil war stops…"

Her tail swished about her. "There is no civil war - the legitimate elected government of Coridan is being targeted by a few extremist pro-royal terrorists."

Spock inclined his head slightly, committing them to nothing. "We are just here to bring supplies. We seek the _Hath Vian_."

The felinoid's tail froze in mid motion. She evaluated them for a few moments, and Jim – lacking tail and expressive ears – tried his best to keep from blinking, knowing that the Coridani associated that with lies and shifty behavior. Of course Spock had no trouble in doing so, though to Jim it felt horrible after about thirty seconds.

Having come to some sort of conclusion, after almost a minute, the captain relaxed and her long, elegant ears flattened out on top of her head.

 _Sorrow_ , Spock recalled from Lieutenant Uhura's linguistics briefing.

"The _Hath Vian_ is lost. May the Goddess guide her safely to the next realm."

Spock nodded once, in acknowledgment and not in agreement. "We have also seen her disappear from sensors. However, do you have additional confirmation…"

"No, Orion, but what more information do you require? She was orbiting the planet where the Queen chose to place the scepter, and now she is lost."

"It would seem illogical for the royalists to destroy a neutral hospital ship, ma'am," Spock said, not bothering to correct the captain's miscategorization.

The female hissed, tail twitching. "Do not go looking for logic from the scepter. Look for fanaticism and religious delusion, but not logic. The royal house has lost, and if there was any rationality in them, they _would_ sue for peace. The crown princess and her personal guard died this morning on Alpha II. There's only a single heir left from that litter, and the mad old rat herself. I don't believe in sorcery, or magical crowns, and, on my honor, I will personally take that planet apart stone by stone until I find those cub murderers." It was clear that the last was said as much to her own bridge crew as the two aliens.

"Captain," Kirk said, refusing to get pulled in by local politics, "I understand that there must be strategic reasons that you won't go in with your cruiser and look for the fate of the _Hath Vian_ yourself, and I don't expect you to tell us about your plans or fleet movements. But we must go there. To look for survivors, or to confirm if she has indeed been lost with all hands."

Recalling her earlier words, he added solemnly, very much aware that it was true for any number of reasons. "It's a matter of honor."

The Coridan captain did something complicated with her whiskers that neither of them could interpret, but must have contained some sort of reluctant agreement.

"Very well. Honor. But understand, Tellarite, that we cannot guarantee your safety."

"We understand." Another piece of Uhura's cultural briefing clicked into place. "Goddess guide you."

"Goddess keep you." She stabbed at a control with her tail, and the transmission was cut.

Jim leaned back, fingers trailing on the control board in front of him. A glance to the monitor to his right told him that the cruiser's warp trail started diverging from their own almost immediately, leaving them the sole craft heading into the system. _We'll have to go to sublight soon._

"Anything strike you as strange in that conversation?" He asked his friend.

"Clearly the Coridan population is in dire need of further galactic contact."

Jim smiled. "Yeah, being mistaken for a Tellarite was a new thing for me. Until they get more exposure, I guess all furless bipeds will look much the same to them." His eyes glittered and he threw a sideways glance at the Vulcan. "Though I could see mixing you up with an Orion. Strong. Green. Hedonistic."

Spock did not react to this in a way that sent a very pointed message about Vulcan superiority, and the human laughed softly, eyes a bit distant. Jim pursed his lips, relegating the captain's mistake to the back of his mind – there was something about it that made it stay in his consciousness, but for now there wasn't much he could connect it to. He shook himself, focusing on the here and now – a distinctly grim and unpleasant place to be.

"Do you think they're still alive?"

Spock hesitated. "I have no strong perception of them having died," he finally answered. Jim blinked.

More than half of the _Hath Vian's_ complement had been Vulcan. When the Vulcan crewed USS Intrepid had perished with all hands, Spock had felt their telepathic death cries across the parsecs. He'd been characteristically vague about the why and how of this, as he was with many other parts of his telepathic abilities. Jim had chalked it up to Vulcan telepathy seeming to be very much connected with an embarrassingly emotional part of the Vulcan psyche that post-reform disciples of Surak found hard to quantify and pin down. There had certainly been other times when Vulcans had died, and Spock hadn't perceived it.

"Do you sense anything else?" he asked. Spock tilted his head, teeth momentarily catching his lower lip.

"No. However… I think that there is a chance that in this case, I would have known if they had died. My telepathic abilities at a distance are somewhat… erratic. I regret I cannot give a more detailed report."

Jim shrugged, "Hey, from what I understand, your telepathy is stronger than most Vulcans, right? Whatever you can use it for I think is a great bonus."

Spock didn't answer, instead pointing to a display. "We are approaching."

"Right. God… Or rather, Goddess, knows I wouldn't have minded some better shields on this tin can."

Choosing speed over discretion, they didn't hide their entry and dropped out of warp close to Coridan Beta II.

The _second_ thing they noticed was debris from the _Hath Vian_.

The first thing were the orbital defense satellites, fired up and ready.

Jim cursed, started flipping switches, trying to take them back to warp to head directly out again. He expected that Spock would dodge them out and into the shadow of the small moon they'd counted on. The computers blared out warnings about multiple attempted weapon locks.

But the Vulcan hesitated at the controls.

"Jim, the debris field. It's too small."

Jim's hands stilled, mind following Spock's through all they knew of hospital ship design and catastrophic landings. He barked "Down!" and Spock nodded once in agreement as he threw the shuttle toward the planet rather than away towards the relative safety of the moon.

A stray rocket missed them, but it was timed to explode within a certain radius of contact with an impulse engine. Its detonation threw them for a loop in all literal senses of the expression as expanding gases from the explosion hit the craft. They tumbled towards the upper atmosphere. Without a word Jim took over the flying while Spock focused the ship's forward sensors on debris trails and engine emissions. The planet was maybe a third of the size of Terra, but landing on even the wrong part of a continent would make it impossible to search if their vessel was damaged – _and,_ Jim reflected in some corner of his mind _, that seems a likely scenario right now._

"I have probable crash down coordinates," The Vulcan shouted over the whining of the engines and the protesting screech of the metal. Jim swerved to avoid a laser beam, sending them into a roll and losing altitude fast. "It's in the other direction," the Vulcan continued helpfully, and Jim glared at him as he spun them to avoid another blast and then finally they were under cloud cover, and the last roll brought them upright and on the right heading. Jim hit the autopilot and collapsed backwards, hands shaking – only partly from the muscle fatigue.

"Well done, Captain."

Jim laughed shakily, "Ten years ago, when I was alpha helm at the Farragut, the only thing on my mind would have been that that is one of the best highs in the universe."

"And now you do not?"

He laughed, "Oh no, I still do. But now I'm old enough to be terrified at the same time." His shining eyes found their match in Spock's, and in the moment before he suppressed his own adrenaline, the Vulcan knew that this, this shared love of simply experiencing the extremes of their capabilities, life and the universe at its fullest, was one of the things that bound their souls together. And it gave lie to all that he so very dutifully had set out to accomplish with this voyage.

"Jim," he began, and then the atmospheric fighter jet came out of nowhere, and only motor memory and thousands of hours of simulator training kept them from losing both engines to the EMP torpedo.

Spock was hyperaware of Jim's harness snapping on the hard landing. The human had rammed their attacker, polarizing their hull and thus getting them inside the other's deflector shield as the laws of physics made it stretch to cover the new object. The two craft tumbled out of the sky and hit the ground simultaneously, on their sides, gliding a full kilometer over rocks and trees before finally coming to a stop.

"Jim!"

Encased in the automatic crash landing foam that had filled the entire shuttle, Spock was unable to move.

He had no choice but to stay still, listening to the silence that answered him.

==o0o0o0o0o==

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my great Beta, MaryChapel! She makes my convoluted sentences a bit more readable – any remaining weirdness is solely my own fault. I love any and all reviews.


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